Yield
by Miss Maudlin
Summary: But there is always a blank slate, a constant slope of her lips, a statuelike look in her eyes. What would make you shed the mask, I wonder? You may be a princess, but you are also a woman. LxZ Drabble


_She felt warm: he pressed his lips to her again, _

_and also touched her breast with his hand. _

_The ivory yielded to his touch, _

_and lost its hardness, altering under his fingers…_

-From Ovid's _Metamorphoses_

_-- _

**Yield**

Stoic, she stands. Solemnly, she speaks. The shadows of the fire may flicker upon her form, ever changing and moving, but she stands with the utmost serenity. At times she may brush away an errant strand of hair or tip her head to the side in thought. But her countenance, her marble beauty, remains the same.

Sometimes I wonder if she ever frowns when aggravated, or blushes when embarrassed, or smiles when amused. But there is always a blank slate, a constant slope of her lips, a statue-like look in her eyes. What would make you shed the mask, I wonder? You may be a princess, but you are also a woman.

I listen to you speak, pace about the carpeted room in front of the crackling fire in the hearth, but I pay no attention. I simply gaze at the harsh line of your jaw and think of a way to make it tic, to move in _some_ way. As the minutes lengthen, the seconds pass by, I move slightly closer to where you pace incessantly. You hardly notice, although even if you had, you would not have acknowledged it, now would you? My ever serene princess, my pretty marble statue. How can I make you human again?

Walk closer, closer, closer…she stops speaking abruptly. She blinks. "What…are you doing?" she asks composedly.

Ah, still no emotion. I remain silent however, letting her mind conjure her own reasons. We simply listen to the fire crackling. I peer at her solemn face and notice an eyelash has landed on the slope of her cheek. In a moment of impulse, I place my finger upon it.

She inhales a quick breath. Intrigued with this bit of reaction, I run my finger along the line of her cheekbone, the eyelash underneath. As I travel its length, I notice her cheeks brighten with color. I torment her: I caress her jaw, all the way to her chin, before taking my finger away. She's blushing, her eyes a little wide, her mouth open.

The statue slowly comes to life.

The eyelash is all but forgotten. As I'm about to brush it away, she grabs my hand abruptly. "No!" she exclaims softly. In a gentler tone, she murmurs, "You have to make a wish."

When I make no move, she explains further, "We put our fingers together, make a wish, and whoever has the eyelash when we part has their wish granted." She looks up at me again, through those long eyelashes of her.

I smile, take her hand, and press our index fingers together. "Make a wish, Princess."

Her cheeks turn a little redder.

Our fingers are pressed together for a few seconds, although it feels like hours. I make an offhand wish before focusing on my pretty statue's—now more human—face again. Such lovely skin; it may be the color of marble, but now it has a human flush to it. I revel in this slight victory.

As time trickles slowly by, neither of us moving to reveal who has won their wish, I slowly bring my other hand up to trace the line of her cheek once more. Her eyes widen, but she doesn't pull away. Our index fingers still pressed, I follow the line of her cheek to her nose, to the slope of her brows, to the smooth skin of her forehead. I can tell she is agitated by my actions, for her breaths are coming in little pants, her skin hot to the touch.

Eventually, I pull away my left hand from hers, only to reveal that the eyelash is still on my own finger. I brush it away, continuing to caress her with my right.

Breathlessly, she asks, "What…what was your…wish…?"

I cup the back of her neck. "This."

Our lips meet; I kiss her in slow degrees. First a simple press of the lips, an exhale of her breath, before lavishing attention to her now pliant upper lip. I then move to the bottom lip. I caress her throat—up, down, up, down—and feel her pulse flutter. My statue is melting. The marble is almost gone. Now it's only warm, pliant woman, who is as sweet as I had ever imagined.

After an interminable amount of time, we part. She's trying to regain her composure, desperately trying to force her gasps into a normal breath, her cheeks the former colorless marble. No more serenity in my princess.

"Why did you…?" she murmurs after a few moments.

I smile slightly. "I wanted to see my statue yield."

* * *

What, am I back?! I don't know, honestly. This is a little drabble that came to me and wanted to be written. So I obliged. Hope you liked it. :-) (PS – this is LxZ, btw. Just in case you couldn't tell…) 


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